White Goes First
by hannibalthecannibal100
Summary: She is a rook on a chess board, capable of placid, motionless steps, or utter destruction in a careless move. Hannibal is the Queen, and Will merely a pawn between two sides. Checkmate? - Will/OC - Hannibal/OC - TW: Violence, Gore - Rated M for future chapters
1. Pawn

_Pawn_

Emmy didn't realise she was being watched by a stranger, in fact, she was so wrapped up in her task, the creature beneath her could have come alive and the woman would be none the wiser. The wooden handled knife in her slender fingers parted meat from bone in smooth, clean cuts and slowly the fresh deer became prime cuts of venison. The stranger moved forward, and again, Emmy paid no heed. The skin up to her arms was stained red, the blood smeared as if by the hands of a painter, her face painted with the same ink. A pair of thin framed glasses perched on her nose, the lenses grimy, her hair pulled back with strands escaping and dancing amid the fray.

Her head snapped up suddenly, the stranger's delicate cologne reaching her nostrils and she stared blankly, eyes wide. Her knuckles tightened around the blade and she stood flat footed against the stone floor. He made some comment about her choice of knife and the man's exotic accent threw her off guard. She was enchanted by his lips, his tone and timbre of speech. She didn't notice him moving closer and only came back to earth when her instincts kicked in. His cologne, stronger, closer, defend! Emmy raised the blade and her wrist was caught by his powerful hand.

"Where is Will?" His eyes were cool, calculating, his face impassive and Emmy panicked. She pulled away sharply, fighting his strength and the urge to run.

"W-Will is out, he's still hunting..." The man smiled, an expression she neither expected nor welcomed. He made her uncomfortable, and his eyes traced her half naked body with a hunger that was unknown. Emmy turned, covering her body, dropping the knife on the kitchen counter and grabbing a clean shirt. She still needed a shower, her torso was covered in blood after skinning the deer, but she would not expose herself with this man nearby. Slowly, tentatively, a deer under the gaze of a gun, she returned to her work. He spoke to her, but Emmy took the child-like approach and ignored him. How she wished Will would return. The dogs sniffed at the man's heels, but Winston whined, backing away and surrounding Emmy with warmth and comfort.

Finally the meat was finished and she threw a few knuckles and shoulder bones to the dogs, before placing the others in a pot to boil, and the rest were disposed of. Winston sat by the door, rushing from Emmy's side, his tail kicking up small clouds of dust as Will came through the door. He had a smile of gratitude on his face, but as he saw Hannibal, his expression became confused.

"Hannibal?" Dr. Lecter turned to look at the dark haired investigator,

"Ah Will, I brought you lunch," He gestured to the small pile of Tupperware on the empty kitchen counter. The special agent frowned again before moving awkwardly around the man and gesturing at the blonde, meeting her eyes. Emmy frowned and pouted a little;

"I can introduce myself Will."

Her tone was clipped, irritated with him and this strange man. She felt violated, exposed and interrupted from her work. The dogs paid no head except Winston, the others gnawing on bone, happily oblivious. Winston licked her leg, a comforting gesture as if the creature sensed her emotions. By the look on the strangers face, he read her like a book. He was a rock, her feelings like waves, crashing into him, fighting to destroy and beat down. She held a hand out, fingers now clean, close clipped nails only showing a little of the macabre act previously performed. The stranger held his own hand out and cupped hers with a firm grip, his palms soft, nails immaculate and she caught a glimpse of the blonde hair that peppered the back of his hand and arm beneath the cuff.

"I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter, a friend of Will's." He paused, wondering if she knew about his and Will's psychological intimacies. Her eyes widened as he shook her hand, fingers cupping the back of her slender mitt, in the simple gesture of greeting.

"I'm Emmy...a friend of Will's from school, and yes, he has told me about you." Her voice was quiet, detached and her blue eyes never met his as they spoke. She dropped the man's hand instantly, as soon as social norms allowed, and returned to her task. Emmy gathered up the knives and threw them haphazardly into the sink. The metal scraped against metal, and Hannibal twitched a little. The blonde looked at Will and left, heading towards the investigators room. The brunette looked at Hannibal, apologising silently before following his old friend.

"Emmy, I'm sorry – I wasn't expecting him to appear." She shook her head, and pushed Will away before stripping her underwear and stepping into the bathroom. "It's fine – just get rid of him okay? He unnerves me." Will sighed and returned to Hannibal in the kitchen as the sound of the shower pipes echoed through the house.

The blonde watched the water turn pink as she washed the blood away, untangling the knots from her hair, scrubbing her skin perfectly clean. She coated her skin in Will's body wash, breathing in the warm musk and relaxing completely under the hot water. Emmy took all the time in the world, humming to drown out the men's conversation as they ate, and when she got out of the shower, she rubbed her hair dry and dressed in sweatpants and a vest top before returning to the kitchen. Hannibal looked up as Emmy came in, and smiled kindly, standing to offer his apologies. Instead, Emmy sat down at Will's feet, pulling Winston into her lap, and passing a hairbrush to Will. The investigator brushed her hair with tender ease, an act of almost brotherly love. Hannibal again returned to his seat, studying the woman with narrowed eyes.

"Have you know Will long, Emmy?" The blonde looked up, her chin tilted upward as Will teased the knots from her hair, but her eyes remained trained on the man. She stayed silent, running the answer around her mouth, fingers scratching Winston's head.

"I have known him since we were teenagers, science class together, and from that grew a friendship that never ended." She paused, thanking Will by kissing his kneecap before returning her attention to Hannibal; "And what about yourself Doctor Lecter? How do you know Will?" Will paused for a moment, looking at the good Doctor, then down at Emmy. He was about to answer, but Hannibal cut in,

"Will is a new friend of mine, we met through a fellow member of the police force and we see each other on a non-professional basis. We all need someone to talk to once in a while." A playful smirk appeared on Emmy's face as she tipped her head back to look at Will.

"So he's your shrink? I never thought you'd be one for someone being inside your head Will." It was a low blow, but the pair had a decent enough relationship that the joke was brushed off. Will grumbled quietly and finished his cup of coffee, gently nudging Emmy with his foot, to get her to sit on a chair like an adult, especially in Hannibal's company. The young woman stood, shooing Winston away before sitting at the kitchen table, unloading her hunting rifle and cleaning it with precise motions. Hannibal watched her intently, and even more so the way her and Will interacted. As the clock in the hall struck two, the Doctor stood, and gathered his things.

"Emmy, it was a pleasure to meet you, and Will? I will see you tomorrow." He showed himself out, and as Will's front door shut, the investigator turned to look at his friend.

"That was Hannibal Lecter." Emmy looked up and smirked.

"You are so gay for him Will."


	2. Bishop

_Bishop_

Will paced along Hannibal's gallery, running his fingers over the books, turning his head as Hannibal spoke. "So you and Emmy, tell me more of your story." Will furrowed his brow, a hand gracing through his curls.

"Since when was this about Emmy, Hannibal – she is just a friend. A friend, whom I dated for a while in middle school, took her to prom, we stayed in touch, and now she's making use of my spare room. That's it. No more, no less." The Doctor laughed softly, settling at his desk and making a few choice notes on Will's speech patterns, and recalling the man's behaviour from their choice encounter.

"I have never seen you be so physically intimate with someone – you brushed her hair, an act of almost brotherly love Will, does she bring out the softer side in you?" Will sighed and climbed down the ladder, jumping the last few rungs. He looked at Hannibal directly, hands in his pockets, head angled down. He didn't answer Hannibal for a while, thinking over what he'd said. "I feel for her, what I feel for Abigale Hobbs, but on a more developed spectrum."

Hannibal nodded; "You feel fatherly protection? A need to care, to nurture?" Will nodded a little. He was uncomfortable talking about this – it brought up feelings he wasn't sure he wanted to explore. Their relationship as teenagers was fleeting, a whim, nothing serious, yet here he was. Will questioned how he felt about Emmy in that moment. It wasn't a pleasant sensation. He was pushed against his boundaries, crushed till he couldn't breathe. The investigator stumbled back, gripping onto the ladder for support. Hannibal simply watched him with an impassive expression.

"Something wrong Will?" The brunette laughed, the sound choked. "I am digging up the past, am I not?" Will shook his head, running a hand through his curls again and smiling shakily.

"Of course you are Hannibal – how is any of this related to my 'therapy'?" Hannibal laughed softly, scratching notes on his paper pad, pondering into the distance.

"It is all related Will, she is part of your life now. How does Emmy feel about your work?" Will smiled,

"Emmy has most likely seen worse than myself – she is a pathologist, part of the reason for her coming here was that she was offered a job at the academy. That's how we got back in touch. She heard of my move to Wolf Trap, and well..." He paused. Will was never quite so affluent with his words, about anybody. But it was a story, and a story he would happily tell. Emmy had worked hard for her career, and he was happy to support her.

"You speak about her with a warmth Will, please, continue." Hannibal settle back, clasping his hands together, watching Will's body language. The man was a little more open. One leg was still rested on his other, hands clasped over his stomach, but his eyes were bright, the corner of his mouth turned up in a little smile. Hannibal let the man talk for a while, before gently interrupting, their back and forth well stretched on the subject of Emmy. However, as Will sensed their conversation coming to an end, Hannibal saw the man become more anxious, more worried. Something was troubling him, deeper than having feelings for another human being.

"How have the headache's been, and the sleeping. Are you resting better with another person in your home?" Will nodded a little, "My headaches are...frequent." The Special Agent ran a hand through his hair, worrying his lip, his voice breaking a little in concern.

"The more Jack shows me, the more I feel like I can't process anything, I feel...unstable." Hannibal nodded sympathetically – "You are not unstable Will, we decided this. I have the paperwork to prove it." Will cut the Doctor off,

"It's a piece of paper Hannibal, a piece of paper doesn't know what's inside here," He tapped the side of his head; "Not even Emmy knows. She knows how I think about things – but nothing else..." Hannibal licked his lips, uncrossing his legs slowly.

"Emmy doesn't have to know everything Will – _I _don't have to know everything – I simply observe." The clock in Hannibal's office chimed quietly, marking nine in the evening. The Doctor tilted his head and studied Will, "Come now Will, we shall talk more next week." The investigator looked up, running a hand through his hair again, his nervous ticks returning. He dry swallowed two asprin and grabbed his satchel before walking to the door of Hannibal's office.

"Goodbye Doctor Lecter."

With that Will left, and he took the drive back to Wolf Trap. The night drew in, clouds scudding across the sky, stars peeking through and decorating the inky blackness. Finally the city gave way to the forests Will knew well, industry fading and nature reclaiming its own turf. The forests of pine were thick, and the clouds seemed thinner here, the streetlights illuminating Will's face as he drove impassively. A small part of his heart danced at the thought of Emmy at home, but other than that, he was tired, truly exhausted. His eyes grew heavy, head lolling but the violent shriek of an oncoming car's horn jolted Will awake.

He'd driven much further, time jumping a little, he was way past his turning for home, the road markings had vanished and so had the street lights. His headlights illuminated the winding road before him, the tarmac vanishing into dark shadows and tress twisted into grotesque forms. The sudden 8-bit tone of the Nokia tune penetrated his vision and thoughts, and Will slammed his foot on the breaks. He looked at the caller ID – it was Emmy.

Will didn't pick up; he just hit the red button, turned the car around and headed home. He arrived half an hour later, greeting his dogs and scratching their ears. Emmy was resting against the door frame. Her arms were folded, brow furrowed. "Will, what are you doing back so late hon?"

The Investigator shook his head, "Got lost, m'drowsy – that's all." He walked towards her, trotted up the steps of his porch and stood in front of the blonde, his eyelids lowered, brow sweaty. Will would have stayed, spoke, explained, but he was so desperate for sleep and craved the darkness of his dreams that nothing seemed to process. Emmy let Will go, watching him stumble to his bedroom. She whispered a goodnight before flopping back on the sofa and drowning her sorrows in a glass of wine.

"Crawford will be the death of you Will."


	3. Rook

**Emmy and Death**

"_The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins?"_ – **_Edgar Allen Poe_**

Death? Well, it's part of my job, isn't it? I am a forensic pathologist for the FBI Training Headquarters located in Virginia in the good ol' U – S – of 'A. Death is an intricate mechanism, although by medical definition it is the heart ceasing to beat, and the brain becoming non-functioning. But it is so much more than that. When is someone truly dead? When they can't feed themselves? When they can no longer raise from their bed to do simple daily tasks? Is it when the light is gone from a person's eyes? To me, even though I see people when they are nothing more than cold meat, I often wonder when they actually died.

I used to think as a teenager, I died a long time ago. Those around me used to comment how I'd lost the 'spark' and 'life' in my eyes, and back then I had. I had nothing, no one to live for or hold onto, and for someone young and new to the game of life, that is crippling. So, to compensate I threw myself into my school work, and finally found a passion in giving the dead a voice they no longer had. School was an odd cup of tea, I wasn't bullied, I wasn't popular, I just…cruised. Yeah, cruised. In fifth year I met Will and we became friends, then after a little while, friends became something more and we dated for a couple of months. However, if I remember his words;

"Too unstable for each other…" Was how he described it, and I truly expect he was right. Anyway, enough of my ramblings. Death, yes. What happens after we die? Now, there's a question. I'm not religious, never have been despite a Catholic upbringing. I don't believe in heaven, I don't believe in hell. Good people deserve good things, and the bad deserve what's coming for them. I suppose if I had to define anything, I would be more of a spiritualist than a religious person. I believe in Karma, and if you do good, good will be done unto you. If you do bad things, the Universe will take its justice. And in my line of work? The Universe has a cruel hand.

I have seen corpses rotted to mulch on a table, I've seen bodies that badly mutilated, we'll never be able to identify them without DNA, let alone be able to ask the family to do the identifying. I've autopsied children, babies in cot death cases, adults, old and middle aged. There is no 'censor' on what I do, no big black sign over things I don't like. You take it, and you take it like a man. To die in this life doesn't necessarily mean you'll rise in another, but if people believed that before they passed, they deserve the dignity of an in-tact body when they meet their maker.

When I die? I want to die in my sleep, quietly and peacefully, or if not in my sleep, in some orgy-related heart-attack. Now, that would be the best way to die – during sex. Would my family miss me? I'd like to think so, I've got a sister and my Mum is still alive, so I really hope they would. That's the hardest thing about death; who you leave behind. Whilst grief is a selfish emotion, you're crying because of what you've lost, not for what the person has lost, I also agree it is very hard to deal with. I remember this one time, I autopsied a young boy who'd been fostered and abused and I didn't think he had any accessible family. Yet, one day this woman came in, holding the documents that proved her to be the biologically mother of the boy. When she saw her baby who she'd given away at six months lying dead on a cold metal table, she completely broke. She sobbed for the mistake she'd made for giving him away. She cried for the pain she was feeling, she cried for her inability to have any more children. It was all over for the little boy, but not for her, yet she sobbed uncontrollably for an hour at least. Strange creatures, aren't we? Strange animated sacks of flesh and bone, given a mouth to talk, and hands to kill.


End file.
